Death Crossing
by Disneyholica24
Summary: When Undertaker fought Grell on the Campania, what else might have happened? What words were said? And what was he trying to speak with those blazing green eyes? Whatever it was left the poor red reaper in a frazzled tizzy and in his diary he writes about the troubling affairs as he relentless hunts the mad man down. As Undertaker once asked; "Which one is the rabbit being hunted?"
1. The chase begins

_Diary entry # 45_

_If there is one thing I was always sure of it was myself and what I held as morally sound. Even if it was nasty, distasteful, vulgar, and wicked I always thought it was in my best interest to do the things I have done and do so without little regret. The risks I have taken are always well worth the rewards I received. Any punishment I would receive thereafter for any actions would also be my pleasure. I always knew the truth and could tell right from wrong, though I did wrong so many, many, many times. However, if there was one thing I have always told myself never to do was to disrespect that one solid rule, that one blood written oath I took when I became what I am now- this deadly efficient diva who slays the damned and just with equal. I swore with all my crimson heart to never do that one thing and I always told myself that those who would betray that rule, that rule that even I would never dare betray, should not be taken lightly. I have met such a person who dared to destroy the very essence of our culture and the cur deserved to be a smoldering cigarette stamped out by my heels. Vile, betraying, and lacking logic- that man who dares have ever called himself one of us! My beloved chainsaw should have easily sliced him into two… but…. I hesitated. Why did I hesitate? It was but a moment too brief as his glowing eyes caught mine in their gaze. What was reflected in them….?_

A small feminine hand with red painted nails smacked closed a maroon dyed leather-bound diary making the latch clank noisily on the desk. The owner of the written words stared away from where they were written, his chartreuse orbs glaring at the leftmost wall as if the very thing that was there had offended him. With a flustered huff he ran his hands through his fiery tinted bangs, pushing them away from his equally flustered face. Grell Sutcliff, the middle-class reaper who was not yet in equal to William his superior and not so secret love, had wanted nothing more than to sway into his abode from a long night of work and slither into some slinky night gown. From there it was time for setting his hair in curlers whilst he ironed his clothes or perhaps twirling his fingers around the phone cord as he chatted up one of his co-workers. A little fondling whilst thinking of any of his two favored raven-haired dream boys and then off to bed.

Tonight though, as he opened the door to his well-kept duplex that he shared with the boisterous ladies' man Ronald Knox, he found himself drawn to write in his diary about what had been going on recently in their world. There had been talk that the dead were rising from their graves and what would have been brushed off as idle rumor or scary tale told around campfire was true! Hushed chatter spread around the office about what this could mean and most importantly who would have that kind of power to do it?

Naturally William wanted nothing more than to dispatch said person before he had his knees deep in the mud he called overtime, but he was sent on his own assignment and dare not break the golden rules he adored. So, one could imagine his face when met with which two of his "colleagues" would be picked for the job. Grell saw it as an opportunity to live out his long-awaited dream to be on an ocean liner streaming across the blue Atlantic while sipping on the finest of wines (befitting of someone of his grace and elegance in his mind). Ronald saw it as a chance to throw flirtatious gestures to ladies as well as- and he didn't tell Grell this- get to meet and combat with the mysterious well known "Sebas-chan."

Neither of them seemed to take it wholly seriously even if Ronald wanted to get it over with fast since there were so many to cross off on the list. This was until the knave who had started the whole mess showed his grinning mug and revealed his true intentions at last. To everyone's shock and amazement it was the unsuspecting mortician who had stayed in the shadowy realm of his profession and known only by his occupational name that came forward. His gray shaggy mane had shaded the very telltale detail that would mark him as what he truly was and using his clever disguise he sought out to do what he did solely out of boredom.

Pulling corpses from their tombs and coffins, earth falling off their rotting bodies, and make believing they were real was sickening enough but as to how he made his Bizarre Dolls… well that is what sent both reapers spiraling. He who had once called himself a Shinigami, a deliverer of mercy to a weary soul, had not only tore from his path and became a wanderer but committed a heinous unforgivable crime- he messed with the cinematic records! That was enough to make Grell grab a firm hold of his favored reaping tool and take on the graying buffoon on his own. How could one dare destroy the very first and sole rule that no reaper should ever go against!? How could he be so bold? No it was not boldness it was lunacy! At this point even the studly Sebastian wasn't a matter for Grell, all that mattered was apprehending this mad man for forsaking the sanctity of the reaper way.

He was a fiend, a liar, a scoundrel and furthermore he had the gall to scuff up Grell's precious visage with those dirt caked boots! Any of these reasons were enough to set the flaming man ablaze but as scythe met scythe in a battle to the death Grell couldn't help but notice how well they were matched in precision, speed, and dexterity. He would have to burn his tongue for this later, but the man was even more sharp than William with his weapon and twice as so compared with Sebastian. Though assuredly he had not wielded that hefty piece of equipment in a good century, he used it with such elegance and proficiency as if it was part of his very arm. Add to that the man was most likely working half blind since most of their kind cannot see well without a pair of spectacles but he operated as if he had perfect 20/20 vision. It's more than likely he had forced his eyes to see or he heightened his other senses.

In either case he was on par with Grell- a feat that the ruby doused man had rarely come to see. If that wasn't enough when he showcased his eyes he had a beauty that made Grell's insides tremble (though he chose to ignore that.) The man sported a certain charm with his toothy grin now and his voice had shifted from that eerie and comical one to one that was smoother yet riddled with some sort of foreign long-ago pain hiding behind the laughs. If under another circumstance, in another life, under another moon lit sky with the metallic scent of blood clinging to the air, Grell's heart might have swooned for this handsome, yet ever still ancient, once called Grim Reaper.

Their heated battle had honestly got the blood pumping just as it would if he were fighting his devilish crow tailed "lover." Poetry and flowers were delicious appetizers but a blood drenched fight to the death was perhaps the sexiest most arousing thing Grell could think of doing with a man- save one other thing. Grell did love the challenging aspect of it all but the fire inside of him yearned to rip through that buckled coat into the pale sutured flesh of this villain and watch as the laughter died like a flame to the wind. As they fought it seemed time had stood still for just the two of them to let their dance continue undisturbed. A clash of metal, a sigh of annoyance, the tap of heels, and the swoosh of an object being sliced through the air.

'Yes!' thought Grell 'This is what I've missed most of all! The thrill! The pleasure of a good long-lasting fight! Let it last just a while longer and let me revel in this pleasure for a small eternity.'

"Say weren't you also involved with something you shouldn't be? The Madam Red case, was it?" The queer undertaker queried, cocking his head to the side as a knowing leer appeared on his mouth and his eyes sparkled in a way.

"I don't like nosy men!" Grell retaliated, not hesitating in his attempts to slaughter the foe that dared remind him of the past.

"I just find it humorous that you are after me when you are no better," He mused, swinging his head out of the way of an oncoming sway of the revving teeth of Grell's trusty chainsaw. "You've slain many humans while by her side and then took her life too. Honestly we both deserve the same ending and yet you fight with such anger as if you are innocent." At this he looked him over, scanning his form with low lidded eyes. "You are far from that, my dear."

"You lech!" Grell screeched, jamming his scythe into the side wall of cabins quarters fiercely.

"Oooh you just about almost had me there. Such deft for someone of your age."

This remark sent Grell in a tizzy. No one mocked his age! You might as well call him ugly or say you disdain the color red. It was your death card instantly. He slowly withdrew his weapon from the side of the metal frame and glowered at the chuckling clown ready to move with all the speed a supernatural being could have. Undertaker stood perfectly still as if he knew what was to come and cared not for his own life. The insanity bubbled about the ship like a kettle of tea about to blow off steam and yet it seemed silent as Undertaker spoke those words that faltered the once stagnant waters Grell swam in all his life.

"Yet for your age… you could never possibly understand my motives. Pity. I had hoped I could convince you to join my side, but you fight for a moral you don't understand. Such a pity."

His voice, rid of the thick cockney accent, spilled out between his parted lips softly, soothingly, as if talking to a beloved person or a friend in need. His words seemed tinted with that same peculiar sadness it had carried but because he was whispering it seemed even more tragic. He was firm and to the point like someone who wanted his opinion heard and not forgotten easily. Grell, who was far more used to people screaming and berating him, was put off by such gentleness especially amid an all-out war between reapers, demons, and humans. Yet that is not what caught him off guard nor what he said; though it would come back to him later.

No. It was those soul snatching eyes that had a unique glisten to them that was unlike any reaper Grell had the pleasure or discourse of meeting. Maybe it was because of long standing and perhaps eons ago their eyes did not have the exact same hue. His eyes had an electric lime shade mixed in with the usual one, but it was beyond that- if that was even it at all. It was the _way_ he looked at him. There wasn't a sign of disrespect, jest, or even delight. If anything, they looked remorseful and filled with a longing that Grell had only seen reflected in his own when thinking about his love scorned. There was something else there too and that something else nagged at Grell. What were seconds seemed to become days before Grell relinquished his mighty defense fully and went back to assassinating the assailant.

"Join you!?" He snarled, in a lady like way of course, biting his tongue to stop himself from stuttering. "Not even in your wildest fantasies, freak!"

Grell couldn't acutely recall what happened next but could recall there was agony and his body was bruised, beaten, and bloodied before being found lying in the icy waters below by an icier source. From that moment on making sure this was stopped was their main goal. Undertaker must be put to justice and all that he made wrong be put right. This would require a lot of thorough detective work and all their attention. For now, only the best of the best were assigned in handling this and since Grell, though in Williams opinion a complete lummox, was one of the best at efficiency he was one of the few tirelessly pouring over this mess. That wasn't the trouble, though. The trouble was this nagging feeling in his gut and it wasn't from the cheap food he had eaten earlier.

As of prior he seemed to find that aging factious bane of the reaping world popping up like a jack in the box in his head. It wasn't often but it would happen from time to time and every time it did there lay a questioning of why. Why was he so powerful? Why was he doing all this? Surely it couldn't simply be boredom. Why was he so somber? Why was he so content with dooming himself and human life? Did he not know this was a damnation beyond hell? This felony would seep into his skin until it became his shadow, following him where ever he goes until finally it took over his life. Why was he so involved with the Earl Phantomhive? No one had given Grell privy to any valuable information concerning that. Perhaps the biggest why is why did he wanted Grell on his side? Why him of all the people? He didn't try to pull Ronald aside, that's for sure, and Sebastian was out of the question. Try as he might Grell could not find sense in it all so often he would firmly shut it out of his head, but it would never escape him.

Along with that came this other burning in his side. Undertaker had left a nasty wound close to Grell's hip as well as some casual bruising that went away. He had hurt him… and he hurt him good. The razor-sharp teeth that belonged to the scarlet Shinigami chewed on pale peach lips. Simply rubbing that area, closer to his stomach but extending around to the hips, was enough to make him twitch in a pleasant way. He carefully lifted his button up white shirt to reveal the scar there that echoed the ones Undertaker seemed to have placed all over his body. The doctor that fixed him up said that the scar might never heal and occasionally there would still be pain. A scuffle with another reaper meant walking away with a few battle scars. Ronald was suffering from a broken nose and fractured at least one rib. He hammed it up a lot to the ladies so that they would pity him and eventually that pity would lead them to his bedroom.

Grell thought that might work with William but the man showed no remorse and instead pushed right against the wound as he knocked him over telling him that it served him right for not being better adept in the situation. The sting he felt on his waist made him dizzy and numb with pain, but he refused any help in form of medication. When he had felt it, he recalled the first time he fell in love with William and it reminded him of how delicious such agony could be. The doctor had warned William to not be so callous towards Grell until it healed and so for a while he refrained from kicking and bashing his face in as he usually did. Never the less he found other ways to physically correct his faults. Grell had been sour about that to be honest for it took away one of Williams traits.

"I'm not entirely without heart, Grell. You give me enough headaches to be classified as a chronic condition, but I cannot have you out of commission because of me. Also stop touching it so often, the seams will rupture that way."

Of course, he took this as a sign of romantic desire and flung himself at the over worked man faster than you could blink. This caused William to act fast and move a secondary chair into Grell's path so he would land on the soft pillow.

"You must be more careful now. I will not tolerate having mountains of paper work to fill out simply because you have an accident while being your usual flamboyant self. Mark me, I do not have any feelings towards you other than contempt. The fact that you let that rogue get away has already got me miffed. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have a job to do. You'd do well to do yours."

Grell usually didn't agree too much with his superior, despite being head over heels for the man, but today he had said something that Grell felt was right. In so many words he blamed Grell for bulloxing this whole mission. If it wasn't for that one brief hesitation he would have gutted Undertaker for sure. It wasn't necessarily the reaper way to murder someone but, in this case, it was necessary. Yet now he was in some unknown location roaming free gallivanting about without much of a trace with no one to blame but Grell. Ronald explained that Undertaker was no small fry and that even working together with that demon they could not take him down. This only infuriated the strict straight-laced workman more as he saw it unfit to work with a demon for any reason but especially that one. William was confident that he could not take him down all on his own but thought he would have stood a better chance as he would have not been distracted by things of carnal pleasure nor any weakness of the heart.

Grell was determined to make things right even if it was against conduct. He had to catch Undertaker- himself. If he could do that then William would be proud and perhaps start doting on him. It was for another reason too; for his own pride and to answer the questions that plagued his mind. The problem was how to find him. As Grell put up his hair his mind began to wander again at the very day this all occurred. He imagined how it would be if there weren't any distractions, as Will had said there were… but then again if Undertaker were there at all there would be a distraction. He would be the distraction. Tall, lean, with strikingly white teeth and those eyes that could pierce through the thickest wall. He had the physical qualities of Grell's type but alas his hair was so long and unkempt and his nails were more like talons than anything. His personality and constant jovial joke making was also something fiercely unfavorable. Grell had only seen one side to the man- the erratic, ballistic, crazed, loony farce of an embalmer who got paid in laughter.

In comparison the silky voiced, strapping 6-foot, debonair butler in black was more a god than demon. His callousness also made him tremble and the thought of their forbidden romance made him even more delectable as a specimen. However, in truth, there was little he knew about Sebastian too. Just that he was a snarky yet sassy heeled Romeo with a taste for certain brat's souls and an acute fondness for felines. As to his fancies other than that not even Ciel knew. He hid behind a smiling mask just as Undertaker did- concealing their true selves to the public eye. The clandestine nature of Undertaker drew Grell in. What kind of secrets or stories could he be hiding and were any of them the reasoning to his creations? Again, the thought came of what it would have been like if they were aboard the sinking Campania together, alone save for the moaning undead, sparring like two caged lions finally freed.

The thought of Undertaker bashing him about like a ragdoll whilst belting out maniac laughter came about, but instead of fearing the imagery displayed, Grell felt another anomalous but familiar sensation. He found his clothes loosening of their own accord from his peach toned flesh leaving his top wrinkled on the floor and his pants unzipped. Beads of sweat glistened across his body as he panted, imagining the wild man having his way with him but not in the way one would think. He would beat him down into submission but never kill him. Nay he would slowly draw out the aching pleasure-pain until Grell would be screaming and covered in his favored color. Just when Grell would think it was all done for and that the end would be near the silver haired criminal would lean forward, their bodies pressed together, and he would delight in how pitiful his prey was. His mouth would pry open, moving patiently slow to Grell's face. Slower and slower, their lips just within each other's grasps until-

Slam! Grell was pulled hurriedly out of his dream state by the front door swinging open to reveal a head of blonde hair with the very back being a stark black. Ronald Q. Knox, the next reaper to die for, was shambling home with a woman on each arm. One seemed to be a reaper and the other was most certainly human. The reaper was one Grell recognized as Blythe Nightingale of Reaper Resources. She was a petite woman with small cup sized breast and braided pigtails. Her glasses were small and rectangular and made her seem much younger than she was. It was always assumed that she was a teenager that ended her life over melodrama but given her status as now one of the gods of death she was far older than she honestly appeared.

Upon coming in and seeing his friend and flat mate half dressed, sensually caressing his body with a pink shade of arousal covering him, Ronald quickly spun the girls around and jolted to his room before any more embarrassing things could happen that might shirk his chances of getting lucky. Grell was embarrassed too, though this situation seemed to arise often, it was who it had arisen from that made his face match the color of his hair. He had come undone by someone who was on the most wanted list and on Grell's shit list. The very last thing he should be doing is imagining what he was imagining and doing what he was just about to do.

It wasn't but ten minutes after collecting his thoughts (as well as his clothes) that he heard the now well-known creak of a spring mattress under the weight of two or more people entangled together. In truth Grell was jealous. Ronald seemed to have the know how when it came to procuring the fairer sex while Grell couldn't even recall his last honest date with anyone. At some point he gave up trying to find a suitable boyfriend or fling, but Ronald was ever so lucky in that department. With two shakes of a glass full of liquor he could have any beauty by his side. Grell was sexually frustrated having foggily recalled the last time he had sex- he had paid for it. Literally. He had become desperate to be mercilessly taken from all angles. If only he had whatever it was that Ronald had that could attract women like bears to honey. He went into the bathroom and applied his nightly mask of lemon, rose, sea salt, and other lovely expensive things trying to ignore the loud squeals of the harlots Ron was going to town on.

'If that boy didn't pay half the rent I'd kick his ass out on the street. He's going to disturb my beauty rest I just know it!' The livid ginger thought to himself as he flossed between each sharpened tooth. He placed one foot on the bath tub edge and began shaving away remarking internally that this was the most time consuming and frustrating part about being a "woman". After each individual ruby hair was removed he found his way onto his bed. The bed was queen sized, naturally, and sported a hand sewn Sebastian voodoo doll as well as heart shaped pillows with golden tassels, silk carmine sheets, and a large wooden headboard that had words and hearts carved into it- most of which were declarations of his love.

The pounding noises came from the room quickly now, the climax was up ahead. Ronald was renowned for being a flirt, but his stamina was not so well received. Grell chuckled. He could at least boast about his own. Grell could take and give all night if need be but he longed for a man who would be able to keep up with him... someone who would not even give him room to beg for more because he was already giving him more. Grell's pink and red laced night mask was covering his closed eyes as he tried to count bodies (sheep just never worked out for him) but was stopped mid thought yet again by a slamming door.

Out from Ronald's quarters the scent of sweaty sex emerged and with it a triumphant and all too satisfied Ronald Knox who promptly went to raid the fridge. Sometimes, in the late hours of the night, Grell might wonder why he never chased Ronald around as he so often did with some others, but it was never that way between them. They were friends of a feather, two miscreants hell bent to get on William's last nerve it seemed. Besides he just wasn't what Grell sought after. Too cheeky and philandering and somewhat untrustworthy. He wasn't as serious as William and he made a lot of unpleasant, dirty jokes about him at times. He had a decent form, but his youth and ego would easily stop Grell from being another foolish girl.

"You could have at least done that in your bedroom, not the living room," Ronald stated, half a chicken leg jutting from his mouth. It wouldn't seem obvious, but he honestly was a pig.

"Done what, Ronnie? Undressed myself?"

"You know what the fuck I meant, Senpai. You were two seconds away from wanking off. You gotta remember I live here now. I don't wanna be scarred for life… again."

"I invited you into my home, Ron, and let you bring your hussies here. The least I can do is fondle myself every now and then. Complain again and it's out mister."

"Yeah yeah. It still isn't right," He grumbled, plopping down on the ivory sofa and outstretching his feet by the fireplace though there was no fire at the moment. "Man, those girls drained the life out of me. Phew."

"Good for you," Grell replied halfheartedly not lacking in sarcasm.

"Hey Senpai…I've been thinking. Shit's been getting real serious, you know? After what happened on that ship nobody has been able to sleep right. I just wonder if we will ever catch him."

Grell couldn't reply. He licked his dry lips and blew out the candle that resided on his desk. It stayed quiet for a while before he finally mustered up the words to say. "Maybe. He's elusive…. like a mist or breeze."

"I want him dead," Ronald replied with a dead pan face, so firm and full of hate that it could be mistaken for his other superior. Grell swallowed hard as he heard Ronald throwback another beer down his gullet and stomp back into the room. It seemed an eternity before Grell allowed himself to rest. As he drifted into sleep he had a dream or perhaps it was a nightmare or perhaps a vision, but it looked like Ronald, standing over a mangled corpse. The corpse was of someone the both knew and his eyes that had tingled Grell were now lifeless and staring into the void. Ronald smiled at him, tears starting to form.

"It's over. It's all finally over."

Grell could not understand how he felt standing there with his best of friends hovering over his worst of enemies. He should feel elated like a princess who has seen her dragon slain but instead felt like the prince was slain instead. He wanted Undertaker dead too, right? He deserved that much. The next sequence of nightmares included Grell murdering Ronald in cold blood and yelling at him again and again so quickly and harshly that it could not be interpreted as speech anymore. Why? Why would he do such a thing? Was he mad that Ronald had taken this life or was he mad that he took it before Grell could?

Yes. That was it. Grell needed to sate himself by spilling first blood. He needed to be the one to end the life of the mad mortician with his own two hands. He needed to feel the pulse stop between his finger tips and watch the glow fade from his irises. It would stop all this burning inside of him to come to an end and just as Ronald said all the rest of their troubles would end too. However, when Grell dreamt about that next, acting upon his own whims, he did not feel satisfied and instead felt like finishing a long-awaited painting only to step back and see that it was always blank.


	2. Encounter with a black wolf

_Diary Entry #: 50_

_As I was doing my usual daily routine strolls I wandered about the dark London square in an area that I never ventured to. It was where he used to reside. The old workshop was boarded up and filthy vermin would scurry out of it every now and again. It almost looked exactly how it did when it had housed him. I snuck inside- just a peak it wasn't violating anything! I had to see if he left anything behind that could help me find him. I hated being in there. Spiders and rats and moths everywhere! Not the sort of place for a dainty butterfly! It was cold, dusty, and dim. Dead would be a proper word to say. There was a stench of death about it, more prominent than before but it wasn't decay at least. All the while I had this creeping feeling like I was being watched. Trust me I looked behind me a dozen times but alas no one was there. I kind of hoped there was. Whether him or not in that empty hovel I felt alone. Some company, especially company from a strong handsome gentleman, would be most welcome! All my searching turned up zilch. All that was left there was the usual stuff someone like that would have- vials, books, coffins of course. Nothing interesting. In the back yard though there was a well-kept garden so well kept that I think someone had to have been looking after it. Last I checked that guy was too poor to afford a personal gardener, so it must have been him! He's a sneaky little git! No one could honestly tell me they had seen anyone like that around, so he must have done it quick. Never the less he was a fool for doing it! I knew if I was patient enough he would come. It was funny though. Such beautiful flora, lilies mostly, behind such a rickety abandoned building. So careful in his craft to nurture the blossoms. The mark of a true reaper. Gah! What am I saying? He is not a true reaper! The gnat that he is shouldn't have ever had the name we carry. After standing there in that pretty, little garden I felt watched again. My heart beat so rapidly it was about to burst! There was something exciting about it. No matter how much I turned I could not see any one who would be stalking me. I kept to busy sidewalks, bustling markets, and well-lit corridors but told myself it was stupid! I am Grell Sutcliff and it is only natural for a beauty such as I to have admirers!__I had to pause though for I could not think of any admirers that I have had. Hmm. I started to feel so cold, that sort of cold you only get when in the presence of death. Even as I unlocked the door to the apartment I knew in my aching everything that it was him. I had heard a cackle echo in the alleyway but saw no one that it belonged to. He would not kill me, not yet. I knew that very well. It was most likely for the same reason that though he was right there… I did not kill him._

Grell slid his diary into a small compartment in his work desk, looking about himself to see if anyone was there. He touched his forehead tentatively. He had a fever, but It wasn't the sort any type of medicine could cure. He poured hours over trying to locate Undertaker and learn more about just who he was. So far, he came up empty as empty as his stomach had been for the past couple days. He couldn't eat he couldn't sleep. All he could do was wait, research, and wonder. As much as he adored the color red he was not enjoying the red rims around his eyes nor could he ignore the fact that he had neglected putting on any makeup today. Everyone noted that he looked so different without a bit of powder to his cheeks.

"Senpai," Came the voice of Ronald, leaning his arm over on Grell's shoulder. His neck had purple marks aligning them and lipsticks stains were found on his collar. Grell knew the color well- Mabel number 5. It was a cheaper brand worn by those who like to pretend they are rich. Grell wore it often in his youth when he was struggling to find a precise identity. His lazy sleepy eyes shifted upwards to Ronald's tousled hair and dopey smile. Curled in his hand was a mug of coffee letting loose steam into the morning air.

"You aren't looking so well. Thought you could use some joe."

He placed the coffee on the table knowing full well Grell hated the tar colored stuff. He was an Englishman (woman in his own mind) after all. Tea was the obvious choice of drink. Citrus honey tea in the morning and peppermint tea at night. Every now and then a good stiff Irish tea was needed but never coffee. However, Ronald wasn't like most of the British birth and loved American goods as much as any here loved their crumpets. It was also straight black, not a hint of cream or sugar. Grell was too tired to argue or even care at the moment. He merely nodded at Ronald and pulled the cup closer to himself.

"You look beat. Been working hard, have you? That's unusual for you."

"Ron, I love you dearly but piss off. Not in the mood."

"Hey! I'm just trying to cheer you up, okay! Look at you, I've never seen you so tense. You need a holiday… doubt William Senpai will regard giving you one. Oh I know! Shopping always perks you up. Let's ditch work, play hooky. I know a great place where they sell all kinds of weird stuff on the low."

Usually Grell would jump at the chance to push away his papers and have a grand old time making merry with his partner in crime. Whether it was going to some sort of soiree or simply making a ruckus it was always enjoyable. Shopping especially would make Grell beam fierce because he always felt a fashionista like himself needed an extensive wardrobe. He had to admit his closet was quite cramped already with over sixteen pairs of pumps, heels, and stilettos not to mention all the gowns, skirts, and blouses. Ever still he needed more. An actress such as he proposed to be must look their very finest on the stage of life. However, today was not the day for pleasant walks and jabbering away about daily gossip or even delighting in spending a fortune on a hand tailored cherry colored bobble or two. Not even one that was unique and rare. Grell was about to tell Ronald thank you but no thank you until, as he was rambling away about how "cool" the place was, he mentioned they sold occult things.

"Occult? Such as?"

"Skulls, spell books, and charms. Lots of that kind of crap. I know you're kind of into that. It's not my kind of kick but they have other doo-dads that jazz me. So, what do you say? You in?"

Skulls. Charms. Sounds like the kind of place someone like _he_ would go to get what he needed to do what he had done. A black market where they might even be selling human bodies for all they knew. He could imagine him browsing through the purveyors for any number of oddities that might peak his fancy or aid him in his twisted acts. Perhaps there was another clue there and waiting around for him to come back and check on his posies or water his tulips was a tiresome act. Someone might be able to answer if they had seen such a character about and what he had bought or even sold. If he sold something that seemed worthless but would aid Grell in his quest, then it was well worth having a peak. So, he left his work desk behind and zoomed off with his blonde-haired companion to see what there is to see.

The market was indeed crowded with all manner of macabre and unfamiliar artifacts. Taxidermist proudly showed off their stuffed prizes, Gypsies pedaled their elixirs that could cure all, and explorers sold the treasures they found while excavating for higher prices than they were actually worth. All sorts of people gathered here- high society included for the aristocrats always loved making perverse things as centerpieces in their homes. A lovely bejeweled wife might fan herself while gushing about the fact that she was the only woman for miles around that had a genuine entombed mummy or some such thing. Grell split away from Ronald, quietly and quickly, to scout out anything here or there that could give him hints. He started at a shop that sold trapping methods for wild animals as well as cookbooks for them as well. Nothing there. At the confectionery that used insects in their sweets. Nothing there. The iron worker who made heavy chains and iron bars. Nothing there. From stall to stall nobody had any information about a man with long gray hair and a witchy lurk. That was until-

"You come here child. Yes you, the red head. Madame Zelda knows what you seek. Madame Zelda knows all."

The woman speaking had thick black hair all full of coils and curls, her skin was olive with a caramel tan. Through her cracked black lipstick, one could see her stained yellow teeth, her hands were decorated with some type of henna, and her eyes a strange yellow hazel color. She was at least forty- eight but still retained a pleasant looking physique, though admittedly around the midsection she was plump. She looked like a woman who had several kids in her time and that fact was confirmed by the sounds of children yelling about around her caravan. Usually it was against all that Grell knew to trust palm readers and fortune tellers but lately they had been cropping up in popularity now and then. Grell was not dictated by whatever was popular rather it was the fact that he was going to ask her anyways at some point. So, he followed the woman into her tent where she shooed away a billy goat chewing on the tapestries. Her strange accent, a mix of Creole and perhaps Russian, spilled out.

"You are very wise to coming here. Madame Zelda is the best at her craft. I've taught all these fakers what they know. Now I know what you will say. I am faker too, no? Just cheap old lady trying to make penny to feed many kids. You wouldn't be wrong. Many mouths to feed, yes. One cannot make it far in this life without money. I am no faker though. I know what you seek."

At this she plopped down upon a chair, making a heavy grunt. She smiled yet again with her stained teeth most likely from smoking or chewing on leaves. Even with that fact and her age she wasn't unattractive. With the right cosmetics she could look half her age but as she was right now with cleaner teeth she could have a man in her tent for much more than looking into her glass ball. Grell sat across from the woman, leg crossed over the other and raised an eyebrow. Of course the woman was fibbing and was going to try to con the man out of all his change and then some, but he would entertain her if just to see whatever she would say. From a makeshift crib came the wailing of an infant causing Madame Zelda, if that was her real name, to call out in a foreign tongue. This sent a young girl rushing in, her burlap dress barely clinging onto her thin form. She had those same eyes and wild black hair with her two front teeth being large and her cheeks dotted with freckles.

"Vadoma, be shutting up the baby. Mama has to work with silence!"

"Jes," She hurriedly replied and latched the infant onto her small barely developed breast. It was a wonder to Grell how she could be producing milk at such a young age and whether that infant was hers. She was no older than fourteen, barely older than the Earl himself.

"No, it is not her son but Vadoma has milk, so she gives. Girls blossom early these days. You were wondering this, yes? You see, I am no faker."

"Anyone could have guessed that. It's likely other people have seen this happen."

"Aha ha. I knew you would deny. Yet you shiver cuz you think I could read mind. I can but only little bits. Like right now I know what you seek. You seek an undertaker but not because someone is dead."

Grell's body froze in place as the words were said. How could she know? Was this woman truly psychic or was it something she had overheard? It's possible she was listening in to Grell asking questions about and from there thought this was a choice opportunity to con a wealthy looking person out of all their earnings. This was the only rational choice for no human on earth could know the future or read minds. Not to his knowledge anyways. He wrung his hands nervously in his lap before calming himself down. The woman just guessed is all.

"You deny again. I can see that much. If I describe him, would that convince you?"

"It might," Grell piped up, trying to sound collected and in control of the situation but inside he was whirling. "But then again it could be something you heard me say."

"That is true. You were off telling every peoples about him. This will not make you believe. How about something about you? The man you seek left you with a scar. Right around your hip. He did this with a most unusual weapon, one my eyes have not seen in a long time. He's not human and you are not either, yes?"

This time Grell felt as if the world had shifted right around him and that there was no excuse in the world to cover this up. Surely even if Grell went about flaunting his half naked body there was no way to know who that particular scar came from or how he got it. Even if he had mentioned it and it became spread about somehow there was not a chance she could ever have known what they were. Their kind stayed close to the shadows and never revealed themselves to anyone. That was also a huge rule of theirs. Not even the reaped got to see their reaper. Madame Zelda had this twinkle in her eyes as if she knew exactly at that moment Grell started to allow himself to believe in all this nonsense. How else could she know except through foresight?

"You have the same eyes. I have seen them once before in my homeland. Back then we had a different word for them; Moartea."

Vadoma shuttered at the word, bouncing the baby boy in her rail thin arms. Grell shuttered too. He was not one who was cultured in all things of their people and knew not what they were called in other places but after simply hearing the word he knew what it meant. Grell wanted to leave, now, for there was not telling what kind of power this woman held or even if she could be somehow working with him. However, that longing to know and the kindness in her voice left Grell believing that there was no need to flight or fight.

"I will not harm you if you do not me. Long ago my first husband Leander always left peace offerings for them but one day they took his peace away from him. He passed ten years ago. I feel no anger. He suffered great pain, yes. The Moartea you are looking for is doing something terrible, yes? So terrible it does make me angry. You cannot awake the dead from sleep. I ask you to come to me and here you are. He will come for you, in due time. You must go it is time for supper and many plates to cook. Be on guard, Moartea. He wants you to find him so let him and you can catch him! Now go."

As Grell slowly stood up to leave, still filled with questions and wondering just why this was all happening to him, he could scarcely feel his legs. He wasn't even sure how he would make it to the opening of the tent, but he did and as he did he heard Madame Zelda warn him of something Grell had been fearing and ignoring for too long.

"You would do well not to become his rabbit. Don't let the hunter become the hunted or else all is forsaken."

Grell had been afraid of that, that in trying to find out answers and to locate this elusive being he would end up snared. Perhaps that is what he wanted, to tease Grell with little tidbits of information and slowly drive him to the one place where he couldn't escape. He stumbled out of that tent worried now about the sensation he had been feeling while snooping about. Undertaker was waiting for Grell to find him, patiently waiting, and ready to strike when the time came. That is exactly what he wanted and the fact that he wanted it made Grell even more anxious and nauseous. Grell wanted it too. He wanted to find him, they wanted to find each other and it would happen. What would happen after that- who knew? Grell always told himself it would end with Undertaker falling to his demise, but would it be the other way around?

They were both curious beings seemingly obsessed with each other for whatever reason, watching each other, desiring each other in some shape or form, drawing closer and closer until it all ended in a blood-soaked bath or worse. There came that feeling again, as Grell was on his way home. It felt like a shadowy form was caressing his curves, tasting his essence, and drinking in his soul (or whatever it was that he had). Down the street that was usually welcoming to him and lead to his abode he heard another pair of heels though far more thick sounding than his. A man's shoes.

In the London fog just outside his door was a figure wearing a top hat with a jagged fabric spike coming from behind it and long trailing hair. The breath that Grell had inside of him seemed to vanish as the air got thinner and thinner while the figure became more revealed. It stood up slowly, seemingly placing something down by the door step, and turned in his direction. Those eyes burned through the thick fog sending out a green beacon to the stalemate ship called Grell. He bobbed closer to the figure knowing it could mean certain doom but if he was so willing then this was good. It meant he would be all the easier to capture. As Grell moved closer, pulling his coat firmly around his body, he felt his hip area sting sharply as if simply being close to the being who made it was making him feel more of that pain. No, it was some sort of trick that his body placed upon him as he recalled that night and the ching of the blade.

"Well Well," The voice cooed into the dark, "You're home early. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"You… I don't have enough curses in the dictionary for how I feel about you right now!"

"I should think your dictionary is comprised mostly of profanities."

"Fuck you!" Grell spat at the cocky fiend who dared mock him yet again. He moved closer and yet Undertaker was not moving an inch as if he was a mirage or vision instead of real. Grell hoped not, he hoped he had not jumped off the deep end.

"Ah there we go," He remarked with a laugh stuck in his throat. "Even though you have a foul mouth I'd still like to be invited in. Won't you open the door? It's very chilly outside."

"You must be a complete lunatic if you think I'd open anything for you!"

"Oh my. All I asked for was the door," Undertaker purred, licking his teeth slowly for Grell was close enough to see his face. At least he moved, that much confirmed that he wasn't just some ghost… but then again ghosts can move too. "Now now then, I mustn't be so forward. Won't you please let me in? As you saw I don't have a place to stay and your home seems so cozy."

Grell had no clue what he was doing and had no idea what he would do once he got to the front door or for that matter what Undertaker would do. He wasn't sure why he was acting so chummy with him either, as if he would just simply swing open the front door for him and allow him to plop his posterior upon any part of his home. What was he doing? Just messing with him? All Grell had currently for protection was a standardized pocket knife made of cast silver, all reapers carried at least one. Ronald was ever so proud of his but Grell never really used it unless he wanted to watch the person suffer slow. This was such a time. At least one nick would make him feel… well he wasn't sure. Valiant he supposed or justified. Also, he simply wanted to see him bleed for many reasons one was to confirm that he can in fact bleed at all and that Grell was swifter than Undertaker made him out to be. It would show the man that he meant business.

"Not on your life or after life!" Grell retaliated, withdrawing the knife from his waistcoat pocket and showcasing it to Undertaker as if to say he would fight to the death with just that.

"You might want to put that sharp poker away," Undertaker warned, stepping closer now to Grell but within a flash he was gone and just as Grell was about to hurriedly go inside his house to grab his chainsaw or check about himself to make sure he wasn't anywhere close- he felt him. He was right there, right behind him, his breath hot and ragged on the back of his neck and suddenly the knife he was holding was now pressed against his throat. "You might hurt yourself, Grell."

"You dare say my name! You haven't the merit to sound off any of the syllables!" Grell growled out, trying to thrash his way out of the situation but ended up nicking his throat if but a little. The sharp pain caused him to gasp as small droplets of blood trickled down to stain the collar of his white shirt.

"Now then, what did I just say? Any more sudden movements and its off with your head."

"The knife isn't sharp enough to do that, you complete and total ignoramus."

"Then prey tell what were you planning on accomplishing by brandishing it? You are smart enough to know it can't hurt me. The one thing that can is out of reach," He pushed his face closer to his cheek and neck taking a deep whiff and letting out a shuddering sigh as if the scent had been one of sheer delight like smelling a sweet after being in search of one. The gesture caused Grell to squirm and dig his nails deeply into Undertakers arm. He allowed it, the nails pierced his flesh and he grunted in some sort of pleasure.

"Feisty tonight, aren't we? If you want to tear me apart so badly then you should at least have the fair advantage to do so. I don't particularly like assaulting unarmed persons."

"Are you seriously that stupid? If you allow me to get my chainsaw its over for you and you know it."

Grell stood there, his nails getting redder with the blood of his enemy, the scent now coming to his nose. With the knife there at his throat so far pressed against his flesh that one more move and it would slice through the next layer of his skin, he felt a pooling sensation. His legs started to become jello listening to this evil perverse being whisper into his ear. He slowly took the tip of the blade and dragged it down, too slow to hurt him but enough for him to feel the light scratch of it against his neck. Grell couldn't help himself, he let out the smallest of moans but to stifle himself and perhaps stop Undertaker he bit hard into his wrist, so hard the blood started to come into his mouth. Undertaker pressed his mouth against Grell's ear and moaned back for him, just in the same erotic way. It wasn't mimicry either…. He meant it. The hand holding the knife slipped downward and popped open some of Grell's shirt and as the night air hit him he gasped again. What was he doing? What were they doing?! This was madness, this should not be going on. Right now he should vanquish his foe but… the anguish was delightful and the anticipation even more so. There was also this immense build up from not being touched in so very long and the feeling of it all was making Grell go hazy.

'No! I won't let this happen! I must get away! I must do my mission! I can't let his disturbances go on!' He thought to himself frantically. Just after that thought he swore he felt something hard against his bottom. Something he was certainly well acquainted with. Feeling that gave Grell a lot of mixed feelings. Fear. Confusion. Disgust but more over and above all that was the one Grell hated the most- arousal.

"Grell," He hummed in an eloquent way as such the Shinigami had never heard. "You call me crazy incessantly, but you are the one who is stark raving mad. I don't think if I gave you my all you could take it and you'd falter before me. On the ship that was not me at my best seeing as there were so many others around I could not give you my full attention. I yearn for that. One on One. Alas I feel as though even if you did grab your chainsaw it would be the end of you not I."

He spoke methodically, keeping the knife steadily above a button that was eagerly awaiting being popped off. If what he was saying was true and him not even trying was a match for Grell then he could only imagine what it would be like if he was at the fullest potential. It would be like a fox trying to fight a large bear. Undertaker's breath tickled his ear and smelled of herbs. Grell turned his head toward him, now able to without the knife at his throat and looked into his eyes again. Beyond that mysterious glaze there was a tinge of lust and his usual mirth.

A grin smeared across his face, but his eyes bore into Grell's with purpose. Without any sign Grell moved closer to his face and Undertaker moved closer to his but just before Grell did anything he could regret he swiftly grabbed the knife and shoved it right in the mad mortician's stomach making him hurl backwards slightly in surprise. He looked up, arm over his stomach and coughing, with a still present smug smirk on his face but it was full of something else. He was like a father seeing his child get a good grade in school. His eyes portrayed the same emotion and the arousal was there in spades. From his abdominal region came that sweet copper scent of blood but the color wasn't bright enough to show up on his dark clothing.

"Well done, dearie," he complimented through his bangs which part way covered his face. He then stood straight up and without missing a hitch removed the object from himself. He didn't even wince. "But not good enough, I'm afraid. If you tried hard enough you could have torn my tummy right open, hee hee. It was a nice try though. Now then, this has been fun and all, but I think it's enough for one night. Shall we make another date then? Perhaps next time you'll actually invite me in?"

Before Grell could answer with a spiteful and acerbic retort Undertaker found his way over to Grell and knocked him out cold on the ground. The last thing he heard was a quiet but thoughtful little chirp of a laugh. As the sun arose over the quaint little home of the two noisiest reapers in London, Grell found himself arising with it, the sun's rays hugging his body. His room was more spacious than Ronald's as it was the master bedroom with a walk-in closet that suited him well enough. The walls were a faded tea stained color with burgundy intricate detailing. One of his favorites that was intertwined with the flowers and swirls was a maiden bathing next to a lion. Grell rubbed his eyes groggily, yawning in a satisfied way as one does when having a peaceful night's rest. At first, he slowly enjoyed the waking dawn and all its radiance for the redness of the dawn was of course darling to him but the he jolted up and no matter how much the sun tried it could not warm him at the moment.

What had happened last night? Was it merely all a dream? It had all felt so real. Yet here he was snug in his own bed with his cherished coat hung neatly and shoes put away in their proper place. They looked polished even as if he had never worn them yesterday. His glasses sat upon the table, gleaming in the sunlight as per usual and his pocket knife missing even the slightest crust of blood. Nothing was as it should be if what happened wasn't a dream so Grell had concluded, though he loathed it so, that it was nothing more than that.

As he shifted out of bed he noted he was still in his work clothes, save the coat he so lovingly borrowed from Madame Red. Even more odd was he was lacking any of his usual nightly regimens including putting his hair up. It swayed loose and unfurled over his shoulder. It didn't smell like he even put anything in it overnight. This was unlike him but not inordinate. There were those work worn nights where he couldn't be bothered with simple tasks and other times where Ronald would coerce him into getting drunk. In that state how could one possibly fathom mixing up a mud mask or applying lotion?

Grell could recall that he had gone out with the lad and perhaps from there it turned to drinking. Grell's head was certainly pounding something fierce but he did not have that disgusting feeling of a hangover. He shook it off as he went into the living room to find that lazy lout of a house guest draped over the sofa and reading some sort of fortnightly with a barely dressed woman covering the front. His eye shifted from what was most likely scandalous portraits of nude French women to Grell then back.

"Sleep well, princess?" He jested, snickering to himself. "You were snoring."

"I w-was not!" Grell stammered in shame, covering his blushing cheeks. It didn't happen often but Grell would snore from time to time and hated being reminded of something so unwomanly of him.

"Whatever you say, Senpai. After the bazaar I guess you went to find some fun. I was already in bed when I heard you come in late. I'm glad, though. You needed to get a little relaxation. You aren't yourself when you're all stressed."

"Did you see me come in or just hear me?"

"Just hear you. I wasn't about to check up on you or anything. I ain't your baby sitter."

"I didn't say you were you wise ass!" Grell fumed, flipping his hair out of the way. "I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself thank you."

"Sure you can," Ronald sardonically responded, barely taking his eyes off Miss July. "That's why you nicked yourself shaving again, right?"

"Ah what? I didn't- "

"Don't even argue with me. You have a little cut on your neck. Trying to stop a beard from coming in?" Ronald snickered again, imagining to himself how ridiculous Grell would look like with a beard the same color as his hair. It just wouldn't be right.

Grell felt around his neck area feeling a cut just as Ronald said. Nothing major or deep, it would fade by tomorrow, but it was there just the same. Now if there's one thing Grell knew it was that he never got hair on his face but of course Ronald, who had scarcely known him for a year, had no clue of that. The man shaved, his other cohorts did too, and so he thought that it made sense for an especially womanly man to want to look even more so by shaving any excess hair. Grell was lucky though as his hair stayed mainly around the body and he took very careful procedures to remove any of it. A lady should not go about town with furry legs! Even if covered by pants they must be smooth like a silk ribbon around a bonnet. Thankfully the hair about his arms was a light orange color but he still shaved it none the less. At this point he was a professional so to think he could ever nick himself was silly. He had done it one time and Ronald never let it go.

Combining those two facts Grell found it rather off that he could have such a cut on his neck…unless. No. He dared not think that what he dreamt was real. How could he have gotten into his home if that was so? No. Yet there was no other answer he could come up with. So, he decided not to come up with any answer what so ever. The thought left his mind as he readied himself for another day and as he put on a merry mood he wondered still, in the back of the back of his head, where he could have gained such a cut. One foot out the door and already his jovial outlook and ignorance towards the dream stopped for the dream started to become all too real.

Right on the cute little welcome mat that was decorated with tweeting cardinals was a singular fresh-looking lily. On its milk white petals still clung some dew drops, and the stem torn carefully as if plucked from a garden and not bought at a store. A flower on one's doorstep so neatly placed and precise could mean a gentleman caller wants to catch your fancy. Usually Grell would be thrilled and would seek out said gentleman in an instant but he already knew who it was. As he picked it up, hands shaking, he recalled in his dream that Undertaker had been placing something down by his door and the man was overly fond of lilies just as Grell was of roses. Grell snapped back into reality, letting all these waves of feeling crash over him. It wasn't a dream and now that Grell realized it he could taste something faint in his mouth. His tongue dated out of his mouth to cross his lips. It was that man's blood.


	3. Crows don't hunt rabbits

_Diary entry # 51 _

_I can't stop thinking about it. If what happened was real, and by now I know it must be, then how did I get back inside?! I keep coming up with only one answer, but I don't like it. The idea present is what I can't stop thinking about. If Ronald heard me come in then it should stand fact that I somehow got up, at some point, and walked inside. That would be the best explanation and the safest! That's the one I like anyways but let's be real here… with all the clues I've found it can't be so. Perhaps the best evidence was that I had left my keys inside on the hook. I had intended on banging on the door or breaking in. With that in mind there was no way I could have simply waltzed in, now is there? Ronald doesn't recall even hearing the jingle of keys but then told me it's not as if he would be listening in for that. I kept looking for more clues, trying to convince myself that I had found my way inside some other way. The door showed no signs of forced entry… at first. I played Sherlock and did some snooping. Let's say… I didn't like what I found. The paint was peeled right where the deadbolt meets the door like someone slid something in there. I also found a small silver hair in my bed. Now I could have told myself that it was from the scuffle last night but how long am I going to keep avoiding the truth? There was also the fact that my shoes were so clean and everything so properly placed. When rethinking about it I don't know why I would be so lazy as to not even change or make myself up but polish my shoes, hang up my coat so precisely, and even bother with taking my glasses off at all. That was very slap dash… and suspicious. There was a simple conclusion that I kept running away from… that HE had brought me in the house._

Grell paused in his writing, the red dipped quill quivering at the curved letter E. His breath came out shaky, staring down at the words he had written. Just as he said, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Undertaker had been inside his home. By the light of the candle Grell sunk into his chair, breathing out a puff of cold air. It was a chilly night tonight and would be for a bit. Winter seemed to be coming early which meant a lot of people were either staying inside or bundled up drinking hot tea or cocoa. Yet it was not the wintery chill that made Grell so frosty it was these thoughts and as the days grew longer and nothing seemed to change in his favor the thoughts persisted and always about him. Grell was not one who was easily frightened or disturbed, usually it was he who was on the other end and called frightening and disturbing.

This now known fact had gotten to him, though. He could easily imagine the entire alarming, spine-chilling scene with clarity and detail. His motionless body lying on the cobble stone path and Undertaker then deciding that it would be most rude to leave his "date" on the ground like a rag doll. With a tender arm he would carefully lift Grell up with ease like he weighed no less than a feather. Being the jokester that he was he would have most likely made a quip about the situation. The idea of being carried bridal style, head close to his moving chest and beating heart, ever so tenderly made the girlish childlike part of Grell gush though he stopped himself from doing so rather quickly. From there on Undertaker must have used a careful steady hand to hold Grell and pry open the door- most likely he slithered his long fingernail in there.

He would have had to quietly find Grell's room, sit him up upon the bed and- well the next part Grell couldn't stop reeling like a broken record in his mind. As he was slumped on the bed, most likely supported by one arm or the back of the bed, Undertaker would work conscientiously and carefully to remove Grell's bright red coat, slowly taking his time to make sure it came off neatly. He might have dusted it off even and retied the bow. None of that mattered, not even the reason why he did it, it was the fact that he did it. He took off his clothes. Well it was only part of his clothing but never the less it was his clothes. He also popped off his shoes from his feet. The imagery of himself lying on the bed, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape as Undertaker detached his shoes made him squirm but in a pleasing way. Those elongated claws barely caressing his form, even if but his feet, made him feel ticklish just thinking about it.

For some reason Undertaker would have had to been carrying a needle and thread with him. Grell came up with this conclusion because the buttons he had cut off during their fracas were no longer missing. It must have taken him some time to find such small things in the dark and to sew them on without hurting or disturbing Grell's slumber. He was most likely doing this to throw doubt so that when he arose he would be in a state of calm. Grell could have bitten off his head for being such a nagging trickster but was thankful he didn't leave his shirt ruined.

Grell could not sew to save his life though he wished to. Undertaker sure knew his way around such things as he had done such a masterful job it looked exactly like the day he bought it. He had a very skillful hand. His next task was to take off Grell's glasses and place them upon the table from there it wasn't certain what else he might have done but Grell had an inkling, but it was a perverse one. Undertaker most likely just stood over him… and watched. Watch him breathe slowly, watched his chest rise and fall, and studied his face. Who knows how long he must have done that for? All night possibly or just a few hours. Not at all was another possibility but with the way he operated that was unlikely. How and when he left wasn't exactly certain. Perhaps through the front door or the window.

The only thing that was for certain was he was right there, in his house, in his room, standing over his bed. He was so close and yet Grell still did not do what he intended to do, nor did he ask any prying questions that would soothe his weary self. Yet again he hesitated and let him get away. Who knew when he would be back? If he would be back? There was no telling. This could have been something he did just for fun and he might never come back again. That wasn't true, though, and Grell knew it. The gypsy woman had said he wants to be found and wanted to catch Grell. Both of those lead to another incident happening and this time Grell would be all too prepared. He would come just as he did, uninvited but ready for another fight, and Grell would be all to obliged to service him in that way. Grell would bring his mangled body to William immediately, breathing but battered, and see him behind bars for which no reaper could escape or tortured or killed. Whatever the court decided. So Grell would wait instead of seeking him out.

"Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. You will not fool me a third time, darling. Rest assured you, the fool, will be fooled," Grell confidently remarked to himself, sharpening his chainsaw. "Your time will come, and I will bask in the glow of my glory."

Life continued for days at a time with not hide nor hair of the retired reaper. Everything seemed to shift back to normal, as normal as it could be. No news, not a whisper, not a word. Yet Grell did not let his guard down he knew that he was just biding his time. After another week rolled by Grell started to wonder if he got bored with the idea of another one on one or whatever it is he was seeking to do. Perhaps something else caught his interest.

Grell had to admit it made him feel bitter. To think that something was more intriguing than he was preposterous! Or maybe it was just a sort of fling, something to pass the time but it was fleeting. In either case Grell started to finally feel like waiting was not going to get him anywhere. He sat in the break room, blowing away the smoke from Ronald's cigarette as he chowed down on some raspberry salad. He couldn't eat any more but not because he was full but because he felt full in his head. This frustrated him to the point of pushing aside the meal and giving it up to Ronald.

"But I don't eat this kind of crap."

"Then throw it away! I don't care!"

"Hey hey! What's wrong now? Sebastian turned you out again?"

"It's been a while since I've visited Bassy…" Grell halfheartedly said to himself in reflection. It had been quite some time since he gave his beau a house call. He was so preoccupied with finding Undertaker that he all but gave up on Sebastian. "Perhaps it would do me good to check in on him."

Grell smiled to himself. That would lift the spirits more than anything! Even a good kick in the can by him would cheer him up and take his mind off things. So he told Ronald to cover for him and off he went to go bother the crow tailed butler of the Phantomhive household. He made sure to look his best too, applying a fresh coat of lipstick and tousling his hair. Walking the path there made him giddy as a school girl. When he came upon the manner he could not hold back the excited shrill shriek he let out. Just in the upper window was his dashing dear serving the most scrumptious strawberry cake to a most undeserving young boy. He wore the same thing he wore every day and yet Grell could not recall him looking as handsome as he did just now. He just couldn't wait any more and crashed through the window, flying up the stair case as fast as he could.

"Ready or not Bassy here I come!" He cried, leaping from step to step. The servants would have warned Ciel but Grell was faster than even the quickest among them. It didn't matter, Sebastian knew from the moment he smelled the sour stench of a reaper that Grell was afoot. He merely stood there and awaited the horror that was about to ensue. In less than a minute it already began with the frivolous man busting open the double doors so hard it left an indent of the handle in the adjacent wall.

"Really now is it so hard to knock? Now I will have to fix that."

"That's the least of the concerns, Sebastian! Grell Sutcliff I demand you leave this instance!"

"Oh, tut tut little brat, that's no way to treat a lady. I would have hoped your parents raised you better than that," Grell sassily replied, placing his hand upon his chest as he called himself the very opposite of what his gender was.

"Indeed they did but I see no lady," Ciel remarked cruelly with a sly smile on his cherubian but no less wicked face. One could see Sebastian giving him a glance of approval. Ciel folded his hands under his chin and observed the reaper with disregard.

"Why you son of a-" Grell started, making his way over to the blue haired Earl that defied him. Sebastian was the one who stopped him in his tracks, placing his silver butter knives across the blades of the chainsaw.

"It is not lady like to attack the master of the house now, is it?"

"Oh Bassy you know just how to get me fired up! Come now, you owe me a spar! We haven't had a romantic night of death since lord only knows when. Simply looking into your dead eyes… ahhh~ Oh Bassy take me!"

Grell had tried to jump the demon but he moved aside allowing Grell to fall flat on his face. He whined miserably knowing that within a few moments he'd be on the floor again but outside instead. This was not what he wanted- just a quick toss. From the floor he looked up upon the thirteen-year-old ingrate who dared to take all the attention from Sebastian for himself. It was then that Grell had a revelation. He had not come here for this at all in fact he came to get away from it, but it cropped up in his mind all the same. This boy had some connection with Undertaker, that much was certain from the Campania incident. Grell mentally slapped himself for not thinking of asking him about anything and also wanted to slap himself for coming here for Sebastian and thinking again of Undertaker.

"The only place I'll be taking you is out of the manor, immediately. We have pressing matters at hand and the likes of you would only interfere. Actually, that is all you seem to be good at doing."

"Wa- wa-wait!" Grell hurriedly stuttered as Sebastian gripped him from the back of his coat tightly. "I wanted to ask you something, Ciel."

"Me? What business could something like you possible have with me? I'm not about to give you my butler for your personal pleasure if that's what you want."

The phosphorous green eyes of the Shinigami glowered at Ciel for one calling him a thing instead of a person and two just being so bratty and rude. Now was not the time to snap back at him, though, now was the time for answers.

"It's not about that. It's about Undertaker."

"Undertaker? Ah right. You lot are on the hunt for him too. If you've come to me for leads I'm not sure why you think I'd help the likes of you. We are fighting for different causes and it is my sworn duty to the Queen and to my helmstate to retrieve him before anyone else. Besides there's not much I can tell. He's always been anonymous to me."

"Then I'm back at square one," Grell sighed dejectedly, hanging his head. "No need to lob my keister outside, Bassy. I'll go the way I came."

"Please, not through the window again."

"I'll use the door this time. Pinky promise. Perhaps next time I'll be in better spirits and we can have ourselves a tussle," Grell hummed but it didn't have his usual spark to it. As he trudged his way out of the estate, escorted by Sebastian who wanted to make sure he wasn't going to damage any more private property, Grell truly felt at odds. He had come with the full intention in having some time with his strutting and devilish beloved and knowing that just being around him would liven the somber tone of the day. Yet here he was sighing heavily and kicking the carpet that lead to the front door, barely interacting with the man. He thought this was going to be a cap to the perfect day. At the very least it was pleasant simply walking aside Sebastian and not being carted out.

"I must say this isn't like you at all. Usually you are clawing your way out. Not that it isn't a good change but it's strange."

"Have you ever wanted something so badly and didn't know why? You hate it, you love it. It disgusts you and amuses you."

Sebastian chuckled, amused, dark, and much too knowingly. "Ah I see. I see. Yes, I have, every day of my immortal life for the past three years but that's none of yours. Here now, this is the proper way out and by the by-"

Grell halted in his path and turned to the red eyed creature who could woo him with a single word. His eyes were glowing pink as the true signs of what he was leaked out from his being. He smiled, his mouth open and showing off his sharpened teeth. Grell wasn't sure if he should scream out of excitement for Sebastian looked ever so sexy in his raw state or if he should scream in panic because this usually meant Sebastian would kick him to kingdom come.

"You are careless with your heart. It will get gobbled up by the black and in some way I look forward to that moment where you will turn your back against the light. Shall that day come I will not be as pleasant as I have been with you. We have a common enemy let us see if he stays yours."

He promptly shut the door right on Grell's nose causing him to grab it in pain and stomp his foot. Sebastian always had this way of peering into you and knowing all your flaws and troubles. As such without even reading a biography he could tell your entire character and how you were feeling. Just then as Grell let his guard down and let his feeling slip out Sebastian gathered it all together and made a bold assumption but was it correct? No. It was impossible for Grell to start to have feelings for the shameless peasant who fought for everything he stood for. He hadn't known him for long and besides that he was just immoral, depraved, horrible, shameless, deranged, senseless, insane, and above all- Grell stopped himself, realizing where he was. He was down the unlit path that led to a certain humble establishment now abandoned. Without even thinking Grell found his way into the garden again and viewed the flowers. A small patch of snow was covering them now. The sight of it made Grell feel sad somehow. He bent down to touch the petals and the gesture made the snow shake off of them.

"You guys have been waiting for him too, huh?"

The snow that started to fall hit Grell's eyelashes and covered bits of his hair. As a reaper he was still somewhat human in some areas, so he could very well feel the cold. A small huff of smoke came from his lips before he got up and walked home. He scampered away before he could be spotted for a splotch of red against white was very easy to see. If Undertaker was still after him then he didn't want to seem so desperate as to keep checking out his home again and again. He shivered as he made his way home and as he did he began to do something he hadn't done in forever. Little trickles of water met his cheek that he tried in vain to wipe away.

"Stupid stupid stupid!" He cursed to himself, rubbing away the stubborn tears. He couldn't describe the way he felt. Disappointed was certainly one of the words he might use if one made him try to describe himself. He stood before his door seeing the lily that he cast aside and picked it up. He wanted to burn it, tear it up, smash it in his hands but he didn't. He placed it inside a vase on his desk, out of the cold, and gave it some water. Ronald wasn't home, he left a note saying he went to some girl's house and might not be back till tomorrow. Grell now felt all alone in the emptiness of his home. The lights were turned on just to give him some comfort and the fire was lit. He played a record of a romance musician he found likable while sipping on red wine and eating left overs. The crying had only lasted 15 seconds at best, but he still felt distraught. Gulping down the last remnants of the wine he decided it would be best to write inside his diary to get things off his chest. Since no one else wanted to listen to his constant complaining or thoughts he would always turn to this sacred tome for which became his closest ally.

_Diary #: 52_

_I've been thinking again and that seems to be a dangerous thing. I can't seem to get him out of my head. He's everything I despise in a person… or at least I should. It's sinful for me to have anything toward him but contempt but damn it all to hell! He's so hot! And the way he touches me, the way he talks, the way he hurts me. Oh gods. I hate myself the more I admit anything. When I shower I constantly touch that specific area he cut into and it feels so good! When a man can take you like that it's so erotic and him being so dominant and powerful. I think there's also something about him like he's the kind of guy who loves poetry and old shit. He treated me so kindly when putting me to bed. He could have done anything he liked. Hurt me or… have his way with me. I would have liked… god…What is wrong with me?! This man brought back the dead, he abused the system! Nobody can fuck with death so willy nilly without remorse. He had no regret for doing what he did. It was all a big game to him! How dare I betray my fellow reapers for something that simply looks good!? I don't care if he has a sad story to tell there is no story that is worth all these atrocities. I will not stand it. If I were to see him again I'd… Id… I don't know. If he were to touch my face and look at me that way again… say my name that way again… I'm a weakling! What kind of woman can I call myself if I give up myself so freely to any man who asks? And he didn't even ask! I'm just offering up myself to him just because he's… he's what? Beautiful like a storm that ravages a town? Destructive, reckless, sinister… do I have the nerve to end him? Do I have the strength? I must. I have no choice! I must do this for all our sakes. It has gone far enough. I don't even care about knowing why he's done this unforgivable act. I don't even care if it has anything to do with that brat or with me or why he was interested in me. I will find him, even if it takes to the end of the earth. I must or else I_

There was a knock at Grell's window interrupting his train of thought yet again. He dare not look up. He dare not view what was to be there, staring into his window in the snowy moon light. It could have been Ronald, he wished it to be Sebastian or William, or some other person that he would happily greet. Anyone but who he feared most. He was the ruby reaper, the deadly efficient chainsaw wielding harbinger of demise. He was not a cowardly pup who ran with his tail between his legs. So, gathering up all his strength and pulling on a brave face he came eye to eye with the person rapping upon his chamber window. Yet there was no raven to mock him of a lost Lenore. Grell's toothy beam made the person do the same. Outside with the snow dotting his usually night drenched attire was the one person Grell feared most.


	4. Ensnared

[AN: Can lemons be spicy? Read below to find out. ;) 18+]

Though his legs and presumably his whole body were quivering and his head swimming with the dizziness of alcohol and all that he felt, Grell found it in himself to push away from the desk and allow himself to get up. Again, for what seemed the umpteenth time he had a million questions and emotions all muddled together to make a very messy stew. His hand found the handle of his chainsaw, then the door to his room, but before his feet could find their way outside to go to whatever was about to ensue he paused a moment. His eyes darted to the bottle of wine. Liquid courage they said it was called. Perhaps Grell would see if that was true. He downed the whole bottle, in the classiest way he could with his pinky out and not letting a drop spill.

He knew he wasn't going to be in the best of sources when inebriated but it was the only way he could act accordingly. Now revved and ready to duke it out at last he stepped out of the comfort of his home to greet an uncomfortable person. Undertaker now stood there, just a foot or so away from the door with his scythe positioned on one of his shoulders. He looked stoic as the frigid wind howled about him, top hat removed, over coat missing. All that he was dressed in was skin tight black pants with a buckled belt lazily hanging onto it and a long sleeved black knit shirt. He also sported fingerless gloves that matched his boots well. With his hair moving about Grell could see he had several earrings aligning his ears that only made him more evocative. That blasted grin was still on his face and seemed it would not be going anywhere. Grell wondered, as he closed the door behind him, who would make the first move.

"Thank you for visiting my garden," Undertaker said with a nod towards Grell as if tipping his hat. "It was in need of some company. Might I inquire as to why you decided to go there, though?"

"I went solely to find out if there was anything about you that could help me find where you were."

"Oh?" Undertaker re-joined, bemused. "Now why would you need to find my humble self when it was all too obvious I was right here all along? Goodness me I should think after knowing I was following you, you'd have no trouble locating my whereabouts."

"That's another thing too!" Grell shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the man. He had to stifle a hiccup for he didn't want to appear drunk, but the effects were about to take their toll on him. "Why are you even following me? That kind of behavior would have you killed."

"Ah but it didn't. You had every opportunity to end my life but only now do you chose to face me. As to why I've been following you this isn't the only time you know. I've been watching you far longer than you know," Undertaker admitted, seeming in deep contemplation but never once taking his eyes off Grell. He showed no fear, not a tremor, and yet he was not arrogant. It was more like he was looking at a bright new toy under the yule tide tree. "I'm sure you wish to know why that is too. You are a fascinating specimen I must admit. Ever since the day the Jack the Ripper cases started coming up I knew the person who could do such a task was worth my fancy. I had followed trails of viscera, blood, and bodies until I found my culprits. Angelina Durless was someone I was familiar with but you. I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting you. I knew what you were but not who you were. I still recall the very night I watched you for the first time." Undertaker fondly smiled at this, his eyes glancing down in memory.

"You were standing by her side, white butler gloves tainted with that color you love. You spoke to the bound prostitute in a hushed way and then carefully slit her in two, watching her eyes go black. You had such a steady hand, like the hand of physician," at this Undertaker's voice seemed to shudder as if the cold was getting to him but it was more like the heat instead. He closed his eyes in contemplation. "Ah the sensation you gave me as I watched you peel back her skin getting oh so covered in blood… it was beyond compare. Seeing your true form also elicited excitement for me. You can imagine it had been a while since I've seen one of the Shinigami. As of today, after seeing more of them, studying them, their being, I cannot lie… I have yet to find one more beautiful."

Grell's heart stopped or at least it felt like it did, right after he said those damning words. Grell could not recall any moment at all that someone besides himself had called him beautiful. Try as he might no man or woman seemed to think so. So only the mirror could compliment him. He never faltered in thinking he was a divine goddess amongst mortal men even if never told so or even told the opposite, but he yearned for one to recognize him as such. Undertaker moved forward without caution or concern, dragging his scythe along the ground instead of poising it ready to strike. Grell couldn't find the words to say or knew how to form them.

"Really I mean it. You have a certain special kind of beauty. The way you do things, the way you laugh, the way you act. Your fiery temper, your thirst for blood, your dramatic flair, your everything. Not to mention I have never seen one so striking as you. Most of us wear black, all suits with no sense of style. Yet you are against all that. You are against everything that I have come to know and everything I left behind. I was bored of the synchrony and the monotony. Most of all I was sick and tired of rules. It is enough that we are meant to pledge our lives to the blasted Queen and serve her like dogs. Must we continue to suffer such things even after our end? You put your heels onto those ideas and stamped them out. Such a bold, daring, dangerous little vixen in red. You have also given me many a great laugh for which I have lost count. I truly treasure that. Life is too short, even for us, and so we must enjoy it and laugh at it… despite the pain. When someone comes along that can laugh at death the way you do… the way I do… I cherish them. You are le petite cher du morte."

Grell backed up into the door, shaking all over and trying to get a steadier grip on the handle of the chainsaw yet again but his palms felt wet with sweat. His lips felt very dry, his heart felt like it was going to explode, his head was full of disjointed words and sentiments. Undertaker came ever closer and Grell could still not move or speak. 'Kill him', his mind screeched, 'Kill him now. At the very least wound him! Do something you dolt!' But he could not. It was like he was stuck in a trance.

"D-don't touch me!" Grell finally stuttered out, starting to pant. He couldn't believe he was doing this, simply standing there without putting up any fight. "Flattery would get you nowhere", is what Grell wanted to say but it seemed that it was the opposite case. Undertaker came closer and decided to touch Grell just to see what would happen. He flinched as those icy fingers grasped his hand. He felt his entire being ooze and melt as he kissed his hand. Grell let out a despicably loud war cry and slashed his chainsaw wildly with his eyes tightly shut. Blood splattered across his face and he could feel it hot on his neck and shirt. There came a gurgling groan then a laugh choked by blood.

When Grell opened his eyes to see what he had done he saw that there was a cut going from his stomach up to his neck and all the way to his shoulder. It was deep, but it would not kill him. Blood came from his mouth, but his face showed very little signs of pain. He looked like he did the other day as if he was ever so proud of Grell for his accomplishments. Grell should feel proud too but standing there with the only warmth coming from the blood he spilled, he felt contradictory. This was his shining moment and yet Grell felt as if he was defeated somehow. There was a part of him that was going wild at this sight, but that part was being drowned out by pity. At least he supposed that's what it was.

"Such a good girl," Undertaker complimented earnestly, stroking Grell's face with his hand. Grell swore he heard his soul shatter and escape him. If no one called him beautiful then less than no one recognized him as female. It wasn't just him being silly either. Grell knew by now when he was being made fun of. "I knew you had it in you. That sort of recklessness is why I love you." He then pressed his bloody mouth firmly upon Grell's tremoring lips and stole what was left of Grell's sanity.

Grell wanted to protest, finish the job, push him away. Anything but moan as he was doing now, full of contented bliss. It was like the morning rising over the earth for the very first time, basking it in all the newness of the world. Out of all the kisses he had received (and it wasn't very many mind you) this was the one that sent his toes curling, heart pumping, blood rushing, and body numbing. The thief had swiped away everything in the kiss until Grell was left with nothing but this burning longing that scorched him from every piece of his mind to every piece of his flesh. The clank of his chainsaw against the floor wasn't even heard by him all he could hear was his heart stretching out from its cage to pop out of his chest and reach for the man in front of him. Grell's fingers intertwined in the disheveled grey hair that topped his head and it felt majestic. He found himself twirling the braids he sported throughout. The bliss was cut off by Undertaker letting loose to cough and as he did his body slumped against Grell's, sliding downward. Grell knew he should just take him to his superiors now, when he was weak and suffering but…

'He's going to die out here…' Was all Grell thought as he picked him up and struggled to carry the heavy being into his house, mentally kicking his own ass for doing this. The beautiful Persian rug was being doused in carmine as he lay the still, thankfully, breathing body of the pallbearer upon the sofa. He looked up at his surroundings through hazy half shaded eyes. He came to look upon a painted portrait on the wall by artist Niklaus Manuel Deutsch. Dance of death it was called.

"You have good taste," Undertaker remarked, leaning back comfortably on the pillows as his "hostess" was scurrying about trying to find supplies to fix the battered bat up.

".. Tha… thank you," Grell's quiet voice spoke from the bathroom.

"You know I can fix myself up, dearie. I am a professional at that sort of thing."

Grell came back into the living room, holding gauze and ointment, looking like he was all sorts of bemuffled and out of it. He truly didn't know what he was doing any more. Here was the enemy of the reaper state lying near helpless in his midst and he was aiding him. It would take but a minute to call a recruit member to gather him up. Undertaker sat up with very few difficulties and started to remove his shirt.

"You see after getting myself into a lot of unfortunate events and of course being an undertaker, I found it easier to work on myself. Though," He recounted, his stained and torn wool shirt folded up into a ball in his hands, "The thought of being worked on by you is stimulating."

Grell's face was more than likely red as a beet both from the wine and from seeing him topless. It wasn't like he hadn't seen another man's body- heavens no! Even so Ronald sometimes, though he chided Grell for it, liked not wearing a shirt. It was different though since it was his. His skin was pale but not exceedingly so or at least not to the point of being disgusting and he wasn't a rippling Adonis, but he had a tight body like someone who did a lot of hard labor. One could tell he seemed to delight in making Grell go shy. From his pants pocket he produced a needle and thread to which he winked at Grell, knowing he now knew Undertaker had fixed his shirt. Grell merely watched, stunned, with bated breath as the man performed surgery on himself whilst whistling as if the pain that had just made him fall to his knees was nothing but a bee sting now. Grell wondered if he was just putting up a front earlier to gain access into the house.

"By the by, where is our young friend tonight?"

"With some trollop I'm sure."

"Oh my," Undertaker hummed, tilting back his neck as he sewed up the wound that resided there without a single hiss of pain, "So we are all alone then?"

Grell nodded, his tongue unable to move to form speech. Undertaker pulled the thread taut, suturing the flesh together neatly before looking at Grell with a curiosity and a hunger which made the ginger want to sit down for his knees couldn't support his legs.

"There now. All finished. Would you like to have a feel? You've been staring awfully long. Go ahead I won't bite."

Grell wanted him to, honestly. He looked simply scrumptious sitting there half way undressed, nipples perked thanks to the outside temperature and with a fresh scar traveling across his already marred chest. He had to admit he did want to touch them, but he also just wanted to touch him in general. He was a desirable piece of man who needed very badly to be stroked all over. Nothing would delight Grell more. So he placed down the un used bandages and went over to him, bending down just slightly. Taking his hand, he traced the scar that circled his neck then up to the one that crossed his face.

"Where did they come from?"

"All from different places, love. The one on my neck, for example, I did myself."

"Oh…"

"Speaking of, how's your wound holding up?"

"It's fine I guess," Grell supposed, his hand on a scar that would about his other shoulder and down his forearm.

"You guess? Mind if I take a peak?"

Grell shook his head no, nibbling his lower lip in a nervous but turned on way. He gradually unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt and pulled it back to show the mark. He felt so exposed even though it was only a small piece of skin he showed. Undertaker was gentle as he slid his hand over it causing Grell to take a sharp inhale.

"Still hurts huh? This looks like the work of Paul Jenner. He was brilliant but never too good at stitches. It shouldn't still be this puffy. If you rub some aloe on it every night that should ease the redness and swelling. As for the pain well- correct me if I'm wrong but I think you might even like it."

Grell's face turned brighter red making Undertaker do a signature chortle. That laughter turned into another grin and from that a leer. He pressed two fingers up against the wound rather roughly causing a reaction he rather liked. His curious hand went upwards towards the abdomen.

"So soft, like a powder puff. Grell I find it unfair that I'm over here half naked while you aren't. Shall I remedy that?" He cooed, tugging gingerly on the shirt in an imploring way. Grell started to back away a bit, afraid of what would happen and most of all disturbed by the notion of what those eyes wanted from him, what that voice wanted from him, and most of all what he himself wanted to do. It was more than evident at this time that Grell was pitching quite the tent just being caressed in one small area. Grell quaked so much that he started to feel himself getting lower to the ground simply to relieve himself of that quaking.

Undertaker took that as his go and tore open Grell's shirt like some savage beast. There it lay on the floor in tatters along with his striped bow tie. Undertaker showed his teeth but not to smile, as per usual, more like he was baring his teeth like an animal snarling but the way he did it was not vicious. It was lustful. Grell was on the floor now his body aflame with heavy desire and enthrallment. His breath was labored, his skin now had a thin veil of sweat covering it. This was a new level of eroticism for Grell and yet exactly what he loved most. An aggressive dominating man who had a sweet loving side to him. Grell whimpered uncontrollably as his mouth delivered searing kisses to his form. His eye lids fluttered as his tongue dragged across the scar. He never felt so close to cumming in his entire life from something so simple as this.

"Grell, my pet, my sweet~" Undertaker was mumbling passionately, flicking his tongue across a pearly pink erect nipple. The feeling caused Grell to moan sweetly. With his sturdy arms he lifted the moaning "maiden", kissing his mouth with all the fervor of a man home from war, and started for the bedroom. Within seconds he found himself on the bed with Undertaker ravishing his body like starved wolf on a juicy lamb. His mouth suckled and nibbled upon the sensitive peaks at Grell's chest leaving red markings. Grell was delirious. What was real anymore? What was right anymore? All he knew is what he wanted and wanted so badly it hurt. He felt his pants being slid down off his narrow hips until he finally lay there without a shred of clothing left on him. Undertaker viewed his prize below him, loving on that body with just his eyes solely.

"Mein nachtkonigin," Undertaker affectionately breathed in a hypnotic German tongue to which Grell understood. "You look absolutely luscious...ambrosial. A mouthwatering, nectarous dish that I wish to savor to the last drop. Might I, then, devour my sweet delicacy?"

What was Grell to say after hearing such elegiac words? He only could do for he still couldn't speak except in moans of pleasure. He widened his legs for him and wiggled his hips suggestively. Undertaker growled softly seeing that motion.

"Naughty~"

Undertaker took his claws and trailed them down Grell's blistering palpable form ever so slowly as to create suspense. It was definitely working. He made his way, painfully and agonizingly slow, to the rigid member that was awaiting deliverance from being so pent up. It pulsed and twitched when Undertaker rubbed his nose against it. It did it again when Grell felt the breath of his nose as he smelled there.

"Such an erogenous and delicate scent. Most becoming for such a profoundly sensuous lass." Undertaker then latched his mouth at the very base of the erection, suckling hard right where the pulse was loudest. Grell squirmed and groaned, frustrated but never the less captivated by his deliberateness. He moved is mouth upwards, opening it slightly and lapping up the precum that drizzled from the head.

"You taste like caramel toffee and just as sticky. I crave more. Please don't hold back any cries or curses. Let me hear all that you have to offer, never stop reminding me why you excite me so. Now then…with that out of the way… I shall show you what true madness is."

Undertaker rapidly put all Grell's length into his awaiting and eager mouth, sucking it with such force that Grell's hips jutted enthusiastically into the air and his nails dug deep into the bed. There must have been some book written somewhere solely about what Grell's weaknesses were bed wise and if there was Undertaker studied it until it became his bible, his mantra, his way of life. There was no way to explain in any language in any word in any place how this one person could turn him inside out with any little movement. It was like his whole body was one big G spot and so every touch, lick, kiss would make his heart and body scream so loud it would drown out all thought.

He supposed it from Undertaker's thorough stalking, viewing every gesture Grell made. Nothing was inside the shambled mess of a mind the red head had except for one thing. Undertaker had said he loved him. Loved him! No one in this whole unforgiving, unjust, corrupt world they lived in would dare even joke about loving him much less mean it. From his birth, as a reaper anyways, his life had been an unloved one. Stumbling about in the lonesome dark trying to find his way about but every candle that was held was held for someone else. Yet he chased them anyways and got further down the road to darkness. Finally, a singular but exceedingly luminous orb appeared chasing him, trying in vain to get him to follow it but Grell ignored it. Now with the light enveloping him he could not ignore it any longer.

"Hnnggg ahhhhh~ Yeeesssss~" Grell moaned in ecstasy even as Undertaker pushed his hips down to keep him steady. The man was a saint the man was a sinner the man was God the man was Lucifer the man was an angel the man was an imp. He was purely impure and immorally moral. Grell felt warm liquid slithering down his shaft but it wasn't coming from said object instead it was coming from Undertaker's mouth. He was salivating. The man was in nirvana from simply having a taste of Grell's forbidden areas. It may seem off but Grell only got more hot and bothered seeing Undertaker drooling all over him. To see someone so enraptured with him that just one taste made that person come undone was making Grell skyrocket towards an inevitable orgasm. Just as Grell was about to announce that he was ready to erupt Undertaker removed his mouth, kissing his way up Grell's sensitive body. He would have protested in a surly fashion, but that tongue found its way into his mouth, toying with his.

"Grell," He swooned, heavy with lovesickness. He tore his mouth away making Grell push forward, aching for more of his sweet kisses. He fluttered his lips on Grell's but never delivered more than pecks. His hand was wrapped around the wanton member that was pleading to release itself. His thumb circled the tip lightly but still gave it enough pressure so Grell was caught between being teased and pleased. "Why do you fight against me? What is your morale? What truth and justice do you think you fight for?"

He could have kicked his ass for asking such probing, meaningful questions at such a time like this. Any time but now when he was seconds from climax only to be brought back down. His teeth bit against the fold of his ear as Grell's eyes crossed. He could barely make proper English come out of him, but he would try. Heat coursed through him, his cock writhed under the careful touch of this being who tormented him so perfectly, and his breathing became so labored Grell had to count to ten mentally just to get it back right.

"Yah.. yah.. you…you cah cah ahhh can't seriously be asking me t..this…"

"I want to know. Tell me and I'll let you cum. Trust me I want you to, harder than you ever have before, all over me but I can't deny this other burning in me too. I know very well you want answers as do I. You can even give me a simple answer, a short one, one word even. Just something, precious. I'm dying to know." He ended his proposal with a small giggle while he continued his ministrations.

Grell knew that of course he wanted to have all those burning thoughts quenched but it was not an appropriate time to be pondering such things. Besides these types of questions spoiled the spontaneity of it all and brought about the idea that yet again Grell was so heinously wrong in allowing this to go this far. By the queen the man was pumping his cock and Grell was allowing it and enjoying it so much he didn't want it to ever stop. Undertaker licked his neck then sloppily kissed it. Grell turned to putty if he wasn't already. It was so hard to be sensible when being played with.

"Ehh Ehh…isn't it obviousss…ahh.. you re…ree..resurrected the dead. It isn't right!"

"Oh? If that's true, then explain us. Explain why we are alive. If it is so wrong for the dead to come back to life, then why Reapers? Why must we be punished and condemned to another existence at all? An existence of watching others die repeatedly without remorse for their meaningless lives? My beloved Neptunian deity, my enchantress, if resurrection is wrong then God is wrong for he resurrected his begotten son. If God is wrong, then we are all wrong and then…there is no wrong. Someone messed with our records to make us what he become. It is discriminatory to not do the same."

Whether it was the building burden of wanting to cum, the pleasure, the soft way of his voice, the tingling sensations in his body, his mouth on his neck, or if the numbness of alcohol stirring in his brain- it wasn't for sure, but the words started to all come together. Those words broke everything that Grell had stood for mere days before this. Grell had wanted to die, as a human at least, bad enough to end his own life but instead of awaiting a hell for punishment or some type of other thing he was awoken from his slumber and thrust into this world, forced to live forever and suffer life forever.

The only thing that could kill him yet again was the tool he used but none dare take their own life with it for most were afraid of what would happen… was there a death after death? There were those that felt like this was redemption- a chance to make a better life. Grell never thought about what this was to him. A gift? A curse? Perhaps an even amount of both? If it was a gift it was being squandered and if it was a curse, then he was doomed to endure it by his self… at least he would have thought. Another cursed being stood next to him trying to offer some stability to all this unreasoning and Grell wondered then if it was right or wrong to take it and if, as Undertaker had mentioned, there even was a wrong. Grell couldn't even understand what was going on anymore. Everything was upside down and topsy turvy. He unraveled in more ways than one. He placed his face closer to Undertaker's, breathing hard.

"Gunna...gunna…"

"Hmm…you did answer me…but I have another question… are you willing to give yourself up to me… entirely? I want to have the pride to say I own such a shimmering ruby."

"….Yes…"

"Yes? Louder Grell I want to hear your penurious voice say it. Say you're mine."

"I am yours! All yours! Please…"

"Very very good."

With that he let Grell finally orgasm spilling thick white fluid all over Undertaker's awaiting hand. It was the most brilliant experiences he ever had for everything else seemed to flow out with it. All his emotion, all his thought, all his deep curiosities, all his soul-searching questions, all the everything. Grell watched as Undertaker noisily lapped up the liquid, making a loud gulp of satisfaction. He groaned deeply.

"By the gods you taste fantastic. That's it. You've gone and made me lose my marbles more so than already. I owe you one back. That little stint was not enough. You have yet to experience what it is like inside my head," At his words, coming out between furled lips, he grabbed Grell by the ankles, lifting him up so his arse was visible, and spread him apart.

"I have lived longer than you know… seen everything humanity could muster up…. this takes the cake. Seeing your tight wanting hole so eager to be stretched out and filled to the maximum…ah…you'll have to forgive me at some point. I won't be gentle and I'm quite insatiable. My only straight jacket is your arms so hold me tightly."

He unzipped his pants and allowed his hardened erection to pop out. Grell's eyes widened. The man had an impressive length. Undertaker puffed out his chest just a touch before beginning his assault. Into the tight crevice it went, straight to the hilt and then some making Grell scream something fierce from the intrusion.

"That's right! Let this night hear the chorus of your liberation!"

Undertaker grinded himself ferociously inside of Grell, rubbing his insides with the powerful organ. He humped the ruby loving man as if today would be the very last. His teeth bit his shoulder, marking his lover, he licked up his sweat like it was water and he was thirsty. He gave it to him just the way he liked, rough and overzealous. His hands groped him all over, his rounded rump, his smooth legs, his hips, his waist, everywhere and grunting happily. Out of his mouth came at least three different languages German, French, and English and though he seemed to not like swearing he did do it. No time had Grell ever felt such pleasure from being screwed. Every time it had happened it might feel good enough, but this was like he was orgasming every millisecond repeatedly. There were no words for it.

"Ahh ahh oohh for fucks sake it feels soo good! I think…I'm going… to…"

"Already? Goodness me that shan't do. It matters not though. I'm not stopping even after you do," He lustfully announced, moving his hips in a circular motion that made Grell yowl. "So, cum for me, just for me."

"U…undertaker…!"

"Oooohhh oui mon belle du fiable? Sing to me!"

Sing he did. From his throat came a roaring symphony, at least in Undertaker's opinion. He threw back his head and wailed like a banshee in his euphoria but as Undertaker said he didn't stop. If anything, he quickened the pace. Grell thought it was just something he said in the heat of the moment, as one does, and that he didn't truly mean it. Obviously, he was wrong as he was consumed by a hellfire of pleasurable insanity.

"Ahhhh no nooo I… I cannot take it!"

"My ears shall hear none of your pleading unless it is for more! Beg all you wish but I am not going to be merciful. Do you," He growled, thrusting in him so hard his tip hit something in Grell's body that made him cry out, "Have any?" another violent thrust. "Idea?" Another one. "How long?" Yet another, this time deeper than the last if that was possible. "I have been waiting to do this?! You think I would let you go after one turn? You will take all of me until your center is inflamed and each corridor of your divine hole is redder than your gorgeous hair. You are mine, you said, but I do not fully trust that. I will have you surrender to me. I will continue until I feel that has happened. So, lay back and buckle in. It's going to be a bumpy ride, libele"

He delivered his promises to their fullest potential, making love to Grell to the point where he was no longer screaming it was squalling at the top of his lungs. He used his belt to tie Grell up so that he might not try to escape the grasp of the lunatic who insatiably ravaged him. After the third time Grell lost count of how many orgasms he had, and the hours seemed to go on slowly but not in a boring way. Everything was a haze, a blur, a tumultuous sensual fog of sex. Grell was a slowly burning candle, wax dripping down but the fire still going strong. The clock on the wall read about 3 in the morning. They had started some time at ten at night. Perhaps 9:30. Neither was certain. Positions were changed, Grell was shifted and done any which way the Kama sutra could tell. Nothing remained but sensation. He was locked in an inescapable prison by an animalistic jailer. Undertaker grabbed Grell around the waist, pushing in such a way that it made both make a strangled cry.

"I think you are ready." He huffed out, their bodies so slick with sweat that it was hard to grasp each other without slipping. "I'm going to orgasm with you this time and with it my trust and heart will be yours. My immortal lover~ Tell me who it is that you belong to, tell me who it is you pledge yourself to."

Finally, at long last, Grell broke out from the glass wall he was put behind. He stepped outside of the chalk line. He shattered through his reality and into this fantasy until reality became fantasy and fantasy reality. With the last ounce of breath, he had in him he cried out the name that had been burning on his lips for such a long time and the man whom he found he adored has said his name right on back in the exact same way. There were many times that night Grell came but cumming together with him was the most elating and by far the best. It was glorious and unearthly like opening blind eyes to finally see. Grell never felt more alive than when the two of them collided. And then as he was unstrapped from the bed and lay in his arms came the feeling of overwhelming peace and serenity. Grell lay there, spent beyond belief, and smiled. Undertaker combed his fingers through Grell's hair, scratching his scalp in a pleasing way.

"In all my dreams of this moment I still could not have fancied how wonderful it could be," He murmured sweetly, kissing Grell's head of hair and forehead. "And all the things you said… the way you sounded…I wished I could have had it on record. I could listen to it for hours. My only hope is when you awake and the wine has left you...you will feel the same."

Grell fell asleep shortly after that, exhausted and weary. The warmth of Undertaker's body against his was so soothing that he wanted to bottle it up forever. When his eyelids opened to the morning light Undertaker was nowhere to be seen yet Grell knew in his heart it was not a dream. The sunrise looked so beautiful today, more than any other day, and Grell watched the gold touch each piece of the land until it sunk into his window and spread across the lily that remained there. The lily opened to the rays, drinking it in. Grell pressed his lips against the petals, kissing them lightly.

His whole body was sore, it was painful to sit down at all, but he did. He pulled a red cotton robe around himself and sat down. He thought of last night, he thought of it in every detail, and every word that was said. He had done something he couldn't dare speak of… something that was unspeakable to anyone…save for one person nay one thing. He must confess what he had done, he must answer for it, and for what he had admitted. What Undertaker had said…Did he still feel the same way now that everything was through? Grell looked towards his diary. He picked up the pen. He dabbed it in the ink. He opened the book and began to write the answer.


	5. The story ends, The chase never will

Ronald had started the day as per usual, sipping coffee and eating a crème filled pastry. When he came home yesterday it was quiet as a mouse, but he assumed that Grell was just sleeping. As he went about his work he saw that his red headed pal was not there either, but he didn't worry. He was always off doing something or other it wasn't much like him to lounge about the office. It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Ronald got an unexpected visitor. While using his reaping knife to get the dirt from under his nails a light rap was heard upon the door to his work space. The door was opened but the person knocked none the less. Ronald turned curiously to see black hair, black rectangle frames, and a straight face.

"Will! Hey how's it going boss man? What can I do you for?" He jovially chirped, waving at the obviously concerned reaper. A small vein popped in his temple.

"Please Ronald if you are to address me it should be by my full name. I have not come here to lecture you. Grell has not shown up today… not that it isn't usual of him shirk his duties but to not see him at all? Now that's unlike him. At least once a day he pesters me. On top of that he had an assignment he was supposed to follow up on with me and he hasn't reported back. It infuriates me that I have to most likely gather him up yet again and drag him back here. I wanted to check at his home but I'm not rude. I'd hate it if someone barged into my place of dwelling, so I wanted to ask if you could allow me to see if he's there."

"I guess so. I don't think he is, at least he wasn't there when I left but then again, I don't know. If it will help you sleep tonight, then we can check or whatever."

"He wasn't there when you left? Was he there at all today?"

"I dunno. I don't make it a habit to go into his room. I was out late last night and when I came home it was silent as the grave. Guess he was sleeping. He's been acting so off lately and I would have mentioned it, but you usually don't care. He won't sleep, won't really eat, and he's always on edge. I think it's all this fuss with that old deserter."

"Hmm… let's go now. Something doesn't sit right."

William took his shears and headed out the door. His stomach felt knotted up and it didn't usually. There was an air about this situation that made him feel uneasy. It wasn't like Grell to let things get to him like this. He had mentioned, one day, that he would do something special to make William happy. What was it he was going to do? It wasn't said suggestively but seriously. He quickened his pace to the home that Grell lived in. Usually he would never ever want to go inside this place especially if Grell really was there, but he had to. When Ronald opened the door, casually and without any alarm, the feeling in William's bowels spiked. The scent in the air… it smelled like death. That sort of scent of death that belonged to their kind. Ronald was too young and foolish to sense it and even if he did he shoved it away because it was most likely belonging to Grell. Yet it didn't.

William has had Grell on him enough times to recognize the aura that came off him. Certainly, it was about this place but there was another there… it wasn't Ronald's. Also, there was a smell of blood. Not Grell's either and not Ronald's. Someone, one of their own, was here and that someone had been wounded. William's eyes darted about the place until he firmly told Ronald to direct him to Grell's room. His fingers paused at the door for just a second. He didn't like what his mind was making up as the pieces all came together. Opening the door didn't reveal much, at first. The sheets and covers were unmade and tossed about the bed. The red coat wasn't there on the rack, but the rest of the clothes were. All signs pointed to Grell not being there. The pair of Shinigami's both settled their gaze onto the desk. There sat a skinny red vase with a blossoming lily inside of it and next to it was an opened diary. All the pages had been torn out save for one and it fluttered in the breeze from the open window.

It was not in William's status quo to snoop about someone's personal belongings, especially something so sacred and secret as a memoir or diary but something told him he should. Ronald was just the opposite, he loved to find notes and what not written by people and so his inquisitiveness led him to also lean forward and begin reading. Though after the reading was done they had wished they didn't. They wished the words didn't make sense. They wished that this was not true. William was always disappointed in Grell, even times shunned him, but somewhere in himself he never hated him fully. Now he did. He loathed him. Ronald had admired Grell's spunk and fire, his funny nature and attitude. Ronald was disgusted by him now. Their stomachs dropped as each word was read, their time stopped, and all halted. Those scrawled out red cursive letters had changed the entire fate of their world and what would be the outcome of their battle.

_Diary # 53_

_I could ask myself "What have you done? You wretch! You have given it all up!" But I can't find those words coming out of my mouth. He scooped up my soul and kissed it, he parted the seas and allowed me to cross. My enemy, more hated than a demon, now more loved than one. I should feel disgraced, dishonored, disappointed but I don't. I feel content. Last night was more than just sex It was my awakening. He was the one who awoke me. It seems fitting doesn't it? I should loathe everything about myself, I should vomit, I should turn myself in, I should cry. But I cannot. I don't feel somber I don't feel regret. If anyone was to ask I would do it all over again. We are star crossed lovers and perhaps it will lead into our demise, but I will gladly die by his side, arms interlocked, soaked in blood and sin, buried ten feet under together. My beloved artisan who painted a landscape for me in a world so without color…I shall remove myself from this life, from my duties, from my purpose for you have given me a new one. I will leave this page here for I know it will be found one day. If you are reading this Ronald I leave my entire home to you. Do not despair for me, if you despair at all. Know this exactly what I wanted from the beginning…. Love. IF William is to find this… what do I say? I am happy now, relinquished of all the revulsion and spite you have given me. I yearned for you once, your cold bitter embrace but it was all for not. You would have never wanted me…. I see that now. __Sebastian too._

_I have run away. I have gone to the side that you call evil, but I cannot see it that way. He is more rational and loving than all the things in the world and there is reason in his breakdown. Chase after me, if you will, try and stop me, if you can, but if I am to depart from his side it will be at the end of a reapers blade and no other way. I have not traveled into a mist nor am I loony. I am entirely sane. I wish one day you can see it my way and that we will all be on the same side once more instead of fighting to the end of the world. There is no sense in it at all. We fight because we feel it is what is just but there is no justice in this world. Everything we think is right isn't so. We cannot view the world as black and white any more. There are other colors... greens, yellows, and of course reds. If I must kill you I will do it, I will not give it a second thought. I'm sure you think the worst of me and already you are on my trail, hunting me down. I had no choice in this matter, nor does anyone. You will think I did have a choice and that said choice was simple, but it isn't as simple as you think. We are bizarre dolls ourselves, empty husks waiting to be filled with a soul. He gave me that soul. I love him. I have tasted the kiss of death and fallen into it. Weak, depraved, foolish you might think. I know you do. I have let him take me, his prized obsession, I have become his… I am the lady death now truly. Perhaps if one recalls something about reapers that will answer any burning thoughts about why I did what I have done without a second glance. When death comes knocking at your door… you have no choice but to open it._


End file.
